


Crystalline

by NETHERW4RT



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Arguing, Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotions, Family Dynamics, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Love/Hate, Minor Violence, Multi, No Plot/Plotless, Personification, Seven Deadly Sins, Sexual Humor, Swearing, Teasing, Unrequited Love, can i get a uhhhhhhhhhhhh, dont get ur hopes up lol, dream pines for something out of his reach (george), fundy deserves better :(, george pines for what he cant have (dream), how the fuck do i tag this one, jschlatt is mentioned like once, mostly limited to one chapter for those, set in the timeline of the “tommy is exiled” dsmp arc, very very little though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28006179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NETHERW4RT/pseuds/NETHERW4RT
Summary: Dream knows his mask is seven-sided, worn and tattered from years of usage.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Alexis | Quackity, Clay | Dream & Floris | Fundy, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Luke | Punz, Clay | Dream & Niki | Nihachu, Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 166





	1. Wrath

**Author's Note:**

> this is an au where dream is represented by seven different versions of himself, each connected to an aspect of the seven deadly sins! 
> 
> there will be one chapter for each of the sins and their (his) interactions with the other characters.

Tommy recognizes the figure in front of him as Dream, but his eyes dart all around the red hues washed over the taller’s form. “The fuck is wrong with you?” He asks, quiet, barely a whisper.

The words set off a fire in Dream; his shoulders rise, tensing and trembling with pure _anger_ —he’s _seething_. Tommy doesn’t quite understand _why_ he’s angry (he rarely does), but the fear spreads through him like a familiar tune. He fumbles a few steps backwards before Dream follows, jaw clenched shut and eyes shooting through him with horrifying accuracy.

“What the _fuck_ did you just say, Tommy?” He growls.

“I—no, Dream, listen—”

“No!” Dream snaps, yanking Tommy forward by the front of his tattered shirt. “ _You_ listen, Tommy. And you’d better fucking listen good, because I will _not_ repeat myself.” He stops for a brief moment, searching for a response; Tommy doesn’t hesitate to nod in understanding. “You sicken me,” he spits. “You preach your nonsense about the same stupid shit all goddamn day long—and now what? Where the fuck have you ended up, Tommy? On this shitty beach? All pathetic and alone? Waiting for friends who threw you to the side like trash?”

Tommy feels his limbs go numb under Dream’s looming shadow and it becomes extremely difficult to stand. Sure, he used to be able to pull a stupid face and enrage Dream no matter how angry he was, but now it’s different—it’s difficult. He’s scary, fucking _terrifying_ , and the boy can do nothing but shrink into himself to hide from the words that cut deep into his chest and pried his heart from his rib cage. 

“I—I just,” he attempts, but again is promptly silenced by Dream shoving him backwards. Tommy gasps, shouts, and then falls on his rear in the damp sand below them.

“Don’t fucking talk to me. You see that? You’re losing the only friend who bothered with you after all of this—all this _bullshit_ you pulled. Does it feel good? Do you _like_ being alone, Tommy?”

“N-no, I—I don’t, Dream, please—”

Dream grimaces, disgust filling every corner of his face as he looks down at Tommy, who’s now tearing up and scrambling closer to him on his knees. “Don’t you know how to fucking listen?” He scoffs and drags his boot through the sand, kicking up a flurry of the small grains towards Tommy’s face. The boy recoils and sputters, brushing it frantically off himself. “You’re a piece of shit, Tommy. You’re alone and you always will be. The only thing you have left is _me_. So I suggest you shut that annoying mouth of yours and learn how _not_ to piss me off.”

Tommy stares down at the sand, cheeks wet and salty with tears trailing down the side of his jawline. He nods weakly, clenching his fists over the fabric of his jeans.

The man tuts and huffs out a dry laugh, devoid of any real amusement. “You’re learning,” he says. “Good. I won’t give you so many chances next time. Hand over whatever shit you’ve gathered.”

Sniffling, Tommy begins to tug items from his pocket, dropping a measly pile of broken sticks and a few wooden tools; he clearly hasn’t done much today.

“God, what a shit show,” Dream mutters, his brow pinched together in the middle of his face. He pulls out a flint and steel, clacking the two against one another a few times before a spark ignites the pile of materials and consumes them into nothing but ashes. “This is pitiful. No wonder Tubbo thought you were such a useless Vice President. All you do is cause problems and be a nuisance.”

The low chuckle matched with Dream’s comment causes Tommy’s eyelids to snap open; he’s crying again, harder this time. He chokes on a sob as he inhaled, clutching at the fabric of his shirt that had torn a bit more thanks to Dream’s roughhousing. The boy scoots back slightly, keeping his head low, and holds back his breathy sobs until he’s shaking and almost suffocates.

And all Dream does is watch—he watches Tommy’s pathetic figure as he tries to keep himself composed, afraid of what Dream might do to him next. Dream likes that—being feared. He smirks.

“Go back to your shitty tent, Tommy. Cry all you want, but pick and choose your battles. Because you won’t win against me alone, and you have no one backing you.” He pauses, pulling out an apple and tossing it around in his hands before taking a single bite from it. Humming, Dream tossing it Tommy’s way and laughs again when it knocks the top of his head but the boy doesn’t move an inch. “Eat it. Think of it as a—a gift from a friend. That sounds right, doesn’t it?”

Hesitantly, Tommy nods, forehead pressing down into the sand until it practically soaks into his skin. The sight fills Dream with ungodly amounts of satisfaction as he steps away through the Nether Portal.


	2. Gluttony

He’s certain that the dumbest thing Dream has ever done is walk up to him, looking to be drenched from head to toe in orange paint, and declare, “Sapnap, I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat!”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Sapnap snaps, his shield raised just enough to defend him if Dream were to attack, but still low enough to hold moderately casual conversation. “Why the hell are you asking me to get something to eat with you? In—in the middle of all this _shit_ you started?”

“Sorry?” Dream laughs and tucks his thumbs into the corners of his jean pockets. “It’s just _really_ hard to think on an empty stomach, y’know? Oh! I got it! Get Punz out here too, we’ll all go share a feast of roasted chicken and steak like the good old days.”

“Oh, I’ll go get Punz alright,” the younger says, and he’s boiling beneath the surface. He knows Dream well enough to feel somewhat fine about leaving him alone in the open air as he heads away to find Punz, but it still gnaws at him from the inside out.

He finds Punz inside, occupying a crafting table for whatever reason; he looks to be crafting a spare set of tools. Sapnap lightly nudges his shoulder and frowns.

“It’s Dream,” he says simply.

Punz glances over as he’s latching the tools onto the side of his belt. “He’s starting another war?” He asks, half joking and half genuine.

“I’d be more content if he was, at least it’d be consistent.”

“He always was unpredictable.”

“He’s falling into habit. But this—I don’t know what the hell he’s thinking.”

Punz shifts the armor over his shoulders and follows alongside Sapnap as they head back towards where the latter had left Dream; it was, honestly, quite surprising to see him standing in the same spot like an obedient dog, kicking up dirt with the toe of his boot.

“Oh, you’re back,” the blond says nonchalantly, turning his posture towards them. “Now don’t you both look so scary. Is that getup really necessary? I’m just asking for some lunch.”

Sapnap scoffs and throws a piece of cooked steak towards him. Chuckling, Dream gratefully catches it and begins to gnaw on it while they speak.

“Why are you here?” Punz asks, looking just about as cautious and conflicted as Sapnap does.

“Why else?” Dream replies through bites. “I’m just so terribly starved, Punz. Can’t we sit down and eat like before—eat until we’re about to throw it all up the next second?”

“No,” Sapnap huffs, “we can’t. This is on _you_ , Dream. You know that, right?”

“Mm, I don’t.” Dream shrugs and takes another inhuman bite of the steak. He hums for a moment, taking a step closer and noting the twitch of their hands towards the gear hanging from their belts. He stops after one movement. “You sure you guys don’t want to just chill and relax? It’s a whole lot better to stuff your face than to be bothered to fight. Look, I don’t even have anything on me—no weapons, no armor, nothing.” The blond holds out his arms, ruffling out his clothes and Punz peers at him to confirm; neither him nor Sapnap make a move to close the distance between them.

Sapnap thinks he’s shitting them and Punz knows he thinks that. He’s scowling, eyes narrow, and he looks furious and heartbroken all the same.

“Go away,” he growls.

“Sap—”

“No, no,” Dream chuckles and waves Punz off; somehow, he’s still hopeful for Dream. It feels like enough, but it doesn’t matter. “It’s fine, Punz. Sapnap hates my guts now, right? Man, I thought we’d at least get to have one more shitty party together. The food was always super good, you know?”

“ _Leave_.”

“Fine, fine, I get it. Later Sap, Punz.” He sighs, rolling his eyes as he turns on his heel and begins to leave. Dream doesn’t see how Sapnap’s shoulders are shaking under Punz’s grip, grounding him and holding him together, but he knows. He always knows. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel bad for sapnap :(


	3. Greed

It’s obvious that Dream loves Fundy, just... _differently_.

His hands trace lightly over his fiancé’s fingers and Dream smiles. “Fundy, are you mine?”

Fundy hesitates. “That’s an odd question to ask,” he says instead, smiling in return—it’s less than genuine, doubt and worry swallowing the features of his face.

“I want to hear you say it, though.”

“Why?”

Dream shifts, glowing yellow hands cupping Fundy’s cheeks in their palms. He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling back. “Is that enough of an answer for you?”

It’s a hollow gesture and Fundy knows that—he knows, but it’s so hard to fight his feelings when Dream keeps pulling them back out of his chest and watching them multiply with every stupid little thing he does. The fox-boy looks away, then back, and whispers, “Yes, I’m all yours, Dream.”

Dream hums contentedly; again, Fundy is blushing and his heart swells at the sound but there is no follow-up from his fiancé, only a light squeeze to his cheeks and then the warmth is gone again. They sit beside each other for a long moment, silence hanging over them like a threat, before Fundy speaks up in a sudden rush of confidence.

“Do you really love me, Dream?”

Dream frowns. “Do you doubt it?”

“I—I don’t think so. I don’t think I do.”

The blond scoots closer and tugs Fundy against his side with a hand snaking around his hip. “Fundy, you don’t have to worry,” he murmurs, fingers gliding along the lower end of his back in some form of comfort, “okay?”

“I try not to,” Fundy says, leaning into the touch, despite the flickers of voices that tell him not to. “It—it’s hard.”

“I know,” Dream coos, “I know. I want you all to myself, Fundy. Is that enough for you?”

“It is.” Fundy nods and he can’t tell if it’s a lie—his own words or Dream’s. The comforting touch is gone again within a flash and Dream recoils to his own side, even removing the heat of their thighs brushing against each other. He’s terribly lonely for someone sitting right beside their own fiancé. “It feels like you destroy everything you want, though,” he whispers.

Dream hears it. He says nothing. He acts as if he didn’t hear it, shifting away and turning towards the rustling trees on the other end of the horizon. 

“This is nice,” Fundy says, louder this time. He needs to fill the silence with words to remove the ache from his chest. “I think it’s nice. Do you think it’s nice?”

“I do,” Dream says simply.

“That’s good.” Fundy locks his fingers together over his lap and sighs. He watches the sun dip under the faraway forestry, blues of the sky melting into pinks and oranges. Dream is further away from him on the bench when he looks down to the knuckles pressing into the wooden framing, but he doesn’t bring it up. He doesn’t want to.

The dusk breeze, he thinks, is colder than usual.


	4. Envy

“How goes L’manberg?”

Tubbo turns on his heels and stares up at the green man, threading the line between welcoming and upset. He settles somewhere in the middle. “Well, it—it’s certainly going,” he responds, fiddling with the papers in his hands. 

“Running a nation must be fun,” Dream says, leaning against Tubbo with the side of his arm. “Hard work, but fun. You’ve got a lot of people looking up to you.”

“I do,” Tubbo says. He frowns a bit, gnawing at his bottom lip. Dream stands straight again when he notices that Tubbo’s posture is tilting forwards.

“Man, I wish I had something like this—don’t get me wrong, what I have now is nice and all, but...it’s a little unorganized.” The blond chuckles and runs a hand through the wavy locks of his hair. “If I’m being honest, I much prefer L’manberg.”

“Now you’re just spouting bullshit,” Tubbo quips, but it falls flat on it’s way out and sounds a bit too serious and harsh for his liking. “It’s not all great.” His teeth grind against each other; Tubbo knows he has to play nice and get along with Dream now, but it’s awfully hard to smile in the face of one’s enemy.

“I wish I were in your position,” Dream continues, passing by the boy’s words with ease. “You’ve got it all, Tubbster. The power, the respect, the _friendship_ ,” his words sting, “what _don’t_ you have?”

_Tommy._

“I don’t know.” Tubbo shakes his head, clutching the papers tighter—he’s afraid that they’ll rip apart in his palms if he doesn’t regain composure. Dream’s hand presses down onto his shoulder and the brunet glances up to meet sharp green eyes, but they’re not scary—not now. Not _this_ Dream.

“I want to be you, Tubbo,” he whispers, and Tubbo thinks it’s the most vulnerable he’s ever heard Dream.

“Wha—why?” He asks dumbly, then quickly bites his tongue as he pulls away from Dream’s grasp. “No, actually, never mind. I, um, I’ve got work to do, Dream. I can’t be playing your silly games right now.”

Dream smiles and nods, his eyes pressing tight shut as he leans back into the warm sunlight. “It’s not a game,” he says, but Tubbo doesn’t believe him. “Have fun with your chores, though.”

“Thank you,” Tubbo breathes. His hands are trembling.

Dream is gone without another word.


	5. Sloth

“These are some nice flowers, Niki. The smell makes me wanna just lie down and fall asleep on the floor, though.”

Niki sighs and plucks the daffodils out of Dream’s blue-tinted hands. “You _always_ want to lie down and sleep on the floor, Dream. Do you come here just to take naps?”

“That and it always smells nice,” he responds. Niki rolls her eyes fondly.

“You cause so much trouble everywhere else.”

“Be glad you don’t have to deal with it.”

“You know I do,” Niki reminds him. “You know I have to help clean up the pieces after you leave everything in shambles.”

Dream huffs and blows the overhanging blond bangs away from his face. He shifts and locks his fingers together over his chest, leaning back against the arm of the couch he occupied. “I’m not _trying_. I can barely make it off this couch.”

“I know.”

Dream grumbles and turns over onto his side, facing away from where Niki is perched over the back of the couch. “You act like my mom.”

Niki laughs and lightly pokes the side of his arm with the daffodil stem. “You’re complaining a lot for someone who said they wanted to pass out on the floor. I’m surprised the couch hasn’t swallowed you up yet.”

“It’s getting there,” Dream says through a small yawn. “You keep pulling me out.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Mmh, it’s fine. Can I sleep here?”

“I don’t see why you can’t,” Niki says. “You’re practically asleep already.”

She isn’t wrong. Dream’s eyes are tiredly holding themselves open even now, flickering between darkness and a blurry image of the room in front of him. He hums in a quick and quiet thanks before letting them slide shut. 


	6. Pride

“You’re sick.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I know.” Dream grins and slides his glowing-purple hands into his pockets, gazing out across a large field from a steep cliff above. “Pick your battles, Quackity.”

Quackity scoffs beside him, hand twitching near the handle of the axe hooked over his hips—a needed precaution in case Dream decides to attack him out of nowhere. “What, like you have?” He asks sarcastically, prickled with rage. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve butt your head into all the battles that didn’t involve you. Do you think you’re some kind of hero or something?”

“Of course not,” Dream says, as if it’s the most obvious thing. He leans forward, feeling the rustle of a cool breeze through his clothes and hair. “I _am_ a main character, though. I mean, none of you would be here without me. No L’manberg, no El Rapids, no nothing. It was all thanks to _me_ , Quackity. _Me_.”

“You—you’re not some omnipotent _god_ , Dream.”

“What makes you say that? I’m smarter than you, I’m stronger than you, I can take away everything you have or give you everything you could possibly want. I’m _better_ than you, Quackity, I’m better than _all_ of you. Sounds pretty godlike to me.” The blond rolls his shoulders and unhooks his sword, digging the blade into the ground in order to lean an arm on the handle. “You’re weak. You’re afraid of me.”

Quackity stiffens and swallows dryly.

“You know what else people fear, Quackity? _Gods_.”

“Shut up,” Quackity hisses, the ends of his nails digging into his palms. “I thought no one could ever be as cruel and terrible as Schlatt, but here you are.”

“Oh, come on, don’t compare me to that old geezer. He was just as weak as the rest of you. Only _I_ have the power around here. You know that, deep down.”

“Fuck you, Dream.”

Dream chuckles, his eyes scanning over Quackity’s unmoving figure. “You know I’m right,” he says. “You do. It’s about time you accept the truth. All of you.” He stands straight again, yanking the blade out of the ground and attaching it back to his hip.

Quackity doesn’t turn, doesn’t move, instead keeping his gaze focused on the flickering blades of grass below them. “You’re a sick bastard.”

“I know,” Dream repeats, and vanishes into the forest behind them.


	7. Lust

Dream crosses one leg over the other, palms against the warm evening grass and cheeks just as pink as the rest of him. He hums a soft melody to himself, leaning against the side of George’s arm.

“You sound happy,” George muses, looping the stem of a dandelion around another in the shape of a flimsy crown.

“I am happy,” Dream says. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

George sputters for a moment, his shoulders shaking as he forces out a laugh afterwards. He plucks another dandelion from the ground and folds it around the others. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know.”

“Don’t be like that. Say something back—c’mon, tease me about how I know how to make a flower crown or something. That’s more like you.”

Dream huffs and watches George shift at the presence of breath over his neck. “That’s not really my thing.”

“Mmh, _your_ thing,” George echoes, nudging Dream off his shoulder and instead allowing him to fall against his lap. “It’s Dream’s thing, though.”

“I guess so.” Dream laughs and turns his head, pressing his cheek against George’s thigh. The air is light and sweet and he swears this is where he belongs. “I want to hold you.”

George freezes and almost crushes the fragile flowers in his hands. “You can’t,” he whispers, as if he were going to break into tears.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

The Brit scoffs and hesitantly rests the crown of flowers over Dream’s golden locks. “I just am,” he says quietly. “It’s not your fault.”

Dream grins up at him, soft and sincere. “I know that too,” he adds. “It’s not yours either. Maybe we’re both just...screwed over by fate or something.”

“How poetic,” George quips and smiles when the blond begins to laugh again.

“You know what I mean, George.” He sighs and rolls his eyes. “I would give up everything to kiss you, you know. Nothing matters—none of it, George. Nothing but you.”

“Stop,” George mutters, biting his lip. He can’t help but blush, even if he hates when Dream says things like that—even if he _doesn’t_ hate it. “You can’t say that to me.”

Dream hums quietly in replacement of a response, adjusting the crown atop his head.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, George.”

“I try not to, but it’s hard. Everything is.”

“I know,” Dream repeats, chuckling lightly. He reaches up and gently holds George’s cheek in his hand, running his thumb across the soft skin. “We’ll be okay.”

“ _Dream_.”

“Yeah, I know.” The blond retracts his arm and then turns his head away when George begins to tremble. He doesn’t want to see him cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how we feelin abt this one dnfers lol


End file.
